


Laughter Lines

by thesecretdetectivecollection



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:09:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8713312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretdetectivecollection/pseuds/thesecretdetectivecollection
Summary: Gary realizes pretty early on that he has a thing for Jamie's hands.





	

Gary realized pretty early on that he rather liked Jamie’s hands. He realized it in the Sky Studio, watching those hands glide over the displays, smooth in their movements. He watched Jamie speak with his hands, too, watched him gesture as he discussed movements and managers and players.

The producers told him to stop, that it was distracting for the viewer. So over the months, the gestures grew tamer, stayed lower, away from his face. But Gary noticed the little twitches, when Jamie was in the middle of making a point and wanted to really properly communicate it, when he went to gesture but remembered a split second later that he wasn’t supposed to. Gary was not well pleased with the producers for changing Jamie’s ways. They’d signed him, they’d wanted him, they ought to let him speak the way he spoke. Besides, he was always most compelling when he was free, when he cursed and gestured and quit trying to override his accent. There was a quiet, exquisite irony to it--Gary liked him best when he wasn’t trying to be likable, understood him best when he wasn’t trying to be comprehensible.

It was a new feeling, and it was disconcerting. Creepy, to be quite honest about the thing. He was obsessing, and he could tell. Over Jamie’s hands. It was an odd thing, for a footballer to be into, wasn’t it?

Valencia called, offered him a chance at to be with his brother again. It would be a tough job, though. But then again, Gary had defied the odds before, and this would secure him forever in the history books. Player, pundit, and coach. There weren’t many who could do all of them. Valencia offered him a chance at greatness. He took it.

 

 _A man is just a man_ , Gary is reminded. _A man is just a man_ , Valencia says to him, wrapping fingers around Gary's throat until he wakes up gasping in the warm Spanish air and wishes for the sound of rain to sing him to sleep.

And Gary fell, like Icarus before him. But he didn’t hit the ground, hit the shiny studio floor instead, brushed himself off, and started discussing Swansea’s coaching situation with Jamie again. Started watching Jamie’s hands again, a little looser now. The producers knew people would watch them either way, and they relaxed a bit, let Jamie have his gestures as long as they stayed below his chest.

They drifted back into old patterns, watching matches together, hanging out before and after, having a few drinks. Gary made the tea, even at Jamie’s place, but Jamie washed the dishes, even when they were at Gary’s, so it evened out.

They were sitting in Jamie’s house on Jamie’s sofa when Gary realized that he had very little left to lose. He’d already lost it all, hadn’t he? His credibility as a pundit, his managerial potential, his job with the national team. He reached out and idly picked up Jamie’s hand. Jamie let him. He turned it over, traced lightly over the calluses on his palms with his fingertips. He wondered if he was leaving fingerprints on Jamie. He hoped he was. He wondered what they would look like, his fingerprints on top of Jamie's.He pressed a little harder. He traced the lines in Jamie’s palm with a fingernail, just starting to grow back after he'd finally managed to stop biting at them.

He suddenly put Jamie’s left hand down and picked up his right, examining it the same way.

“See this?” he asked, tracing over a line that cut between his index finger and ran down to divide the ball of his thumb from the rest of his hand.

Jamie swallowed, but didn’t say anything. He inclined his head just slightly, nodding.

“That’s your lifeline,” Gary said seriously. “It’s very long, so you’ll live a long, healthy life. See how it branches? You’ll have a lot of options, different paths you can take.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “Be careful when you make your choices.” he said, looking directly into Jamie’s eyes, “They’ll affect other people too.”

“And this one?” He traced along a line that started between his index and middle fingers, and traced it to where it ended, below his little finger.

“That’s your love line, Jamie Carragher.” He looked at Jamie’s wide eyes and watched the line of his throat as he swallowed again.

“Have you ever been in love, Jamie?”

Jamie kissed him.

“Don’t tell me you believe that palm-reader bullshit,” Jamie said, hoarse as he pulls away from the kiss.

“Nope,” Gary grinned, the rogue, and Jamie’s heart creaked, like someone had just straightened a crooked painting and he’d just now seen what it’s meant to look like.

Gary pulled him back in, for another kiss, and it was a proper one this time, longer, deeper, more profound somehow, and Jamie had waited for _so long_ , and it’s so _good_. Gary started to pull away, and Jamie followed him, just a bit, before they separated.

“But I like your hands,” Gary said, breathily, taking them again in his own.

“Bit odd for a footballer,” Jamie said lightly, turning the tables and suddenly holding Gary’s hands up, to learn them, to learn the scar on his thumb and dryness of his palms, and the spider web of veins that he could just barely see through Gary’s skin, still a bit tanner than usual from Spanish sunlight, to learn the softness of his fingertips and the smoothness of his fingernails (except for that _one_ , and _why was that_ , Jamie wondered, and thought he would ask one day), and the silky elegant narrowness of his fingers, fingers that would look good on a violin, or a piano.

He told Gary that, and Gary chuckled.

“Come back to mine sometime, I’ll play you something on the guitar.”

"Do you know anything by the Beatles?" Jamie asked, teasing.

" _In my life, I love you more_ ," Gary crooned to him quietly. "Managed to learn a few things in Spain, after all," he admitted. And they weren't in a church, but the words were confession, sure as the booth Jamie'd sat in every Friday. He held Gary's hands tighter, and that was the only warning Gary got that he was about to be kissed again, and thoroughly. Jamie let go of his hands, reaching up to cup his cheeks instead.

“I like your hands, too, Gary.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's an old palm-reading guidebook in our house. I have no idea who bought it--my mom thinks it's blasphemy and my dad thinks it's bullshit and I just found it one day. It made its way here. 
> 
> Originally posted on my tumblr (@thesecretdetectivecollection)


End file.
